Night continued to tiptoe and since Dig was concerned of me cutting his throat in the middle of the night, he did not sleep, so neither did I.
I was in need of some serious self-care, so I put on a facemask, checking that the serum was soaking properly in my skin, and gave Dig my hand. Studiously, he worked on each of my nails with the file, ensuring each one was perfectly rounded.
The scars and tattoos over his shoulders told tales of his years in prison, his black hair messed over his head, the sheets wrapped around his lower half showed the outline of his erection pointed in my direction. I had selected a vitamin C mask for him, and he wore it under his red heart-shaped sunglasses.
“Where did you come from?” I asked Dig. “I tried researching you, but all your information online was taken off.”
“I came from the gutter.” His scar speckled and calloused hands were much larger than mine. Gentler too.
“You said you have a sister?”
He almost sort of smiled. “Yeah, Glorious. But she prefers to be called Glory.”
“Are you close?”
Whatever smile was about to bloom on his face withered. “No, she likes to keep her distance from people. Doesn't trust anyone. I respect that. It's a good way to be in this world for most of us. What about you? Is your brother nice to you?”
A stab hit my chest. “I’d prefer not to speak about him.”
Dig nodded, keeping his attention on my nails. “Okay.”
“Who are your parents?”
“My dad is dead,” he answered quickly, like ripping off a bandage.
“Mine too.” I smiled. “Isn't that nice, we have things in common.”
Pausing on my nails, he looked up at me. He did not smile. I realised then I had forgotten to show emotion.
“Oh.” I promptly dropped my smile. “I apologise. I’m not very good at…at…being empathetic. Um…that's sad. That’s very sad. Our fathers are dead. Sad. Sad.”
I scrunched up my face, trying to show misery, however I think I must have looked ridiculous as Dig cocked his head at it.
I swallowed hard.
Now he would fester with thoughts about my strangeness. He would feel the cold that leaked from me. He would move away, just like everyone did, knowing there was something odd about the girl who did not feel.
“Ha!” Dig slapped his knee, breaking the silence between us. “Nah, I’m not sad he’s dead. He was horrible.”
I dropped my façade. “Oh.”
“What were you doing with your face? It looked cute.”
I smiled a little. He did too. We shared that small smile. I think this was a special kind of language, sharing a smile.
“Do you cry?” I asked him. “Like…with tears?”
He shrugged. “When I was younger. Not so much anymore.”
“What does it feel like?”
“Crying?”
“Yeah.”
“It's alright.”
“I've never cried before.”
